As he went out of the hall-door, he felt a pretty rough
little paw in his hand and heard a whisper. "You're just the dearest
thing ever was."
Concerning John Penhallow, it is to be said that he did not understand
why he was let off so easily. He had a suspicion that Leila was
somehow concerned, and also the feeling that he would rather have
suffered to the end. However, it would be rather good fun to announce
this swimming-permit to the boys.
Seeing from his shop door John riding down the avenue, Josiah came
limping across the road. He leaned on the gate facing the boy and looking
over the horse and rider with the pleasure of one who, as the Squire
liked to say, knew when horse-flesh and man-flesh were suitably matched.
"Girth's a bit slack, Master John. Always look it over, sir, before you
mount."
"Thanks, Josiah. Open the gate, please. How lame you are. I am to send
the doctor to look after you and Peter Lamb."
The big black man opened the gate and adjusted the girth. "That's right
now. I've got the worst rheumatics I ever did have. Peter Lamb's sick
too. That's apple-whisky. The Squire's mighty patient with that man,
because his mother nursed the Squire when he was a baby. They're near of
an age, but you wouldn't think it to look at Peter and the Captain;
whisky does hurry up Old Time a lot.
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